Lock It Up, Throw Away the Key
by Sahkess
Summary: Sam's changed, keeping his distance from his brother for his own sake, but when Dean needs his Sammy, he's there. Significant spoilers up through 4x10 Heaven and Hell. Small amount of language.


_Lock it Up, Throw Away the Key_

Summary: Sam's changed, keeping his distance from his brother for his own sake, but when Dean needs his Sammy, he's there.

Significant spoilers for anything up through 4x10 Heaven and Hell. A teeny bit of language.

A/N: Yellow Fever kind of bothered me. Don't get me wrong, I loved the episode, but it bugged me that Sam was no nonchalant about Dean when he was on the road to dying again. Sam was so determined to save Dean before his deal was due and in this episode, he was more annoyed with him than worried about him. I know part of that was to make the episode focus more on the humor instead of "oh no, Dean's dying!" but it still seemed a little out of place. Maybe I just missed the brothers' usual dramatic h/c act. Well, probably.

Anyway, I made up a little explanation for it. And I included a bit of Dean's breakdown, because that scene is so heartfelt and gets to me every time.

I love Sam but always have a hard time figuring out what's going on in his head. I can't really get far into the heads of either of the boys—well done Jared and Jensen for keeping the characters complex!—so if this seems too out of character for Sam, my apologies.

Disclaimer: If only…but nope, not mine.

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Yeah, I was being distant. I knew Dean could tell. He didn't see Sammy anymore when he looked at me. Truth be told, I wasn't really Sammy anymore. That guy was Dean's little brother, the one Dean would always be around to protect, the one who could count on him for anything.

But Dean died. He died and left Sammy alone and I think maybe Sammy kind of died that day too, when he saw the hellhounds rip the last thing that mattered in his life apart, when he held the broken body of his brother and looked into his eyes and saw the cold, dark pits of hell instead of the man so full of life.

I couldn't bear to be Sammy again. Dean was back, but after surviving—I wouldn't really call it living—four months without him…I was too used to the person I had become. It was simple, no room for emotion really. Eat, sleep, meet with Ruby, exorcise demons, save people. Ruby was always there, yeah, and I was grateful for her, for keeping me alive, for keeping me on the edge of sanity when I had slipped off so many times, but…there was no more singing in the Impala. There were no more jokes, no more prank wars. There was no more arguing for first shower, or making coffee for two, or seeing a certain someone's face light up at the mention of pie for dessert. And without those things, without that affirmation that my brother was there, without Dean there couldn't be any Sammy. I locked what was left of Sammy away.

And then Dean came back. He came back and I was in shock, so happy to have him back, so guilty for not being able to bring him back myself…and so terrified. Terrified that somehow he would leave me again, he would keep up his insane streak of self-sacrifice and I would lose him again.

And I couldn't go through that. Not again.

So I kept my distance. I kept meeting with Ruby because that was the way of things. I didn't tell Dean because…well, I'm not sure why I didn't tell Dean. Probably because I knew I was wrong in what I was doing and would have finally had someone to set me straight, and I didn't want that. It may have been wrong, but I was doing good things, and that's what mattered.

Besides, Dean was different. I knew from the first time I saw him again he had changed, but he said he didn't remember Hell so I thought maybe he was just reacting to me being different, or freaking out a bit over losing four months. I should have known, though. Dean's a good actor, but I should have known he wasn't alright.

Sammy would have known.

Then that stupid ghost sickness reared its ugly head and there I was again: about to lose my brother to something I had no control over. In my head I was freaking out. I wanted to pull him to me and slash out at everything around us, as if keeping him by my side would stop all the bad things from getting to him. Like he used to do when I was little and had nightmares. He'd come sit on my bed and wrap his arm around my shoulders and tell all the little monsters to go away. He'll deny it now of course—_no chick flick moments in this family Sammy_—but I was so grateful to him for doing that, for keeping my childish monsters away

I never really gave him any comfort while he was going through that, now that I look back on it. I should have. He was _dying_, for Christ's sake, and I was too busy keeping it all inside so I wouldn't have a panic attack in front of him to bother to help him. Sure, we got the ghost and he's fine, but…when I came back to the motel and found him on the floor…that terrified look in his eyes, the way he curled into himself…and he wouldn't tell me what he saw. Maybe it was Hell.

Hell. Goddamn it. I should've known he remembered. But nope, I was busy running off with Ruby and keeping secrets from my brother and keeping Sammy locked up in his own little cell to pay attention, and had to have a friggen angel tell me. And even after that, I still couldn't get him to talk about it!

Sammy would have been able to get him to talk. Sammy would have done all the chick-flick moment moves out there to get him to open up. But I couldn't. Instead of offering comfort and a safe place to open up I reprimanded him for lying to me, and then got angry with him for not talking about it. Great job Sam, attack the guy who died for you and had his soul ripped apart in Hell, well done.

And then he finally cracked. Leaned against his baby, the only thing that hadn't really changed in our lives, us included, and broke into a bunch of little Dean-shaped pieces as he told me about the crap he endured for my sake, to save me. What he had to go through for thirty years until he finally stopped being superman, and then had another ten years of what I knew was worse torture for him then the actual torture. Forty years…god.

That did it. I couldn't just sit by and keep myself protected, not when Dean was falling apart right next to me.

Sammy won out in the end, after all.

I opened his cell and let him be the little brother…I let myself be the little brother again. Just for a second, just for a moment. I'd put him back later. Right then he was needed. The little brother who could be there for his big brother, to not judge him or try to absolve him, heck he didn't even need to talk to him, he just needed to be there.

So when Dean put his head down, tears still leaking out of his eyes, those damn eyes so full of life again and now full of pain, I put down my beer, stepped away from the Impala, turned to my brother and put my arms around him.

And I tried to make his monsters go away.

End


End file.
